Where I'm Calling From

7.1969696969696969696969696969697 Miles High. It looks as though a lot goes on up here, but we're not apart of it. Leonardo Da Vinci tried, Michelangelo tried to be apart of it. We keep reaching, but we can't get there. I try, I try every week to hang-out up there as long as I can. The silence must be deafening. Jackson, MS. n/p-iPod, Shuffle Songs

Up at 5:27AM and hot in the shower. Not shaving today, I hate to shave. I like being shaved, but not the act of shaving. It hurts too bad. Like a wise man once told me, "God gave us men beards, why shave them?". I agree, but not really because I still shave. This is the view from my hotel room window in Atlanta: The pic in the previous post was from my hotel room in Birmingham. She told me she was the only left in her family and that nothing could harm her. I disagree. Her parents past at a fairly early age each, in their 50s. Her sister of cancer. She has no children herself. The family line stops with her. And nothing can harm her now. No one lives forever, I say. I believe I'm right. The ride goes-on and the tension cracks the air like lightning. I'm swelling inside with this severe anticipation of the thing that I cannot do. I can't make a clear decision, not on a night like this. The pain in the back of my knee increases with each ...